May 2010 A

JDRDAN
76 May 2010
Arabia
lo||ow |n the ootsteps o 1 L law|ence to
d|scove| the ext|ao|d|na|y |ands that |nsp||ed
the adventu|e|, and the p|aces whe|e h|s
name echoes to th|s day
WORDS OLIVER SMITH | PHOTOGRAPHS JOE WINDSOR-WILLIAMS
Offering some of the
most remarkable desert
scenery you could ever
see, the myriad moods
and dramatic colours of
Wadi Rum in Jordan are
dictated by the changing
angle of the sun
In search of Lawrences
May 2010
Once a key stop on the Silk Road,
Aleppo today retains that air of an
Arabian bazaar city, with people
going about business as they have
done for centuries. Donkey-riding
locals and couriers (below) dash
through the labyrinthine souq (right)
thats fragrant with olive soap,
spices, coffee and grilled shwarma.
At the Baron Hotel (above), the old
world is still in evidence with a
poster advertising express trains to
Baghdad (left), while the Citadel
(below right) is Aleppos most
famous landmark and has long been
the heart of its defences
78
F
EW guests at the Baron Hotel
in Aleppo have ever needed a
wake-up call. Just before dawn,
a gust of wind through my hotel
room window sends the curtains
rippling, and the chandelier over my bed
wobbles in the breeze. As if on cue, the call
to prayer begins at a nearby mosque, and
the ancient verses weave their way into the
dreams of guests waking on creaking beds.
Al-salatu khayru min an-nawm, recites
the muezzin prayer is better than sleep.
This is Aleppo, Syria a city claimed
by some to be the worlds oldest, whose
mystery inspired Shakespeare in Othello
and Macbeth. Just along the corridor from
my hotel room is the room where Agatha
Christie wrote the rst part of Murder on the
Orient Express and where, some say, her
typewriter can be heard tapping after dark.
But the greatest tale of all belongs to my
rooms previous occupant, the man who
left without paying, and whose bill is
framed in the lobby below awaiting his
return T E Lawrence, the man who
would become Lawrence of Arabia.
In a few hours time, the cool night air
will give way to the scorching midday sun.
Before too long, the empty market beyond
the hotel will be thronging with merchants
selling spices, perfumes and fabrics. It
feels like the perfect time to begin a
journey in Lawrences footsteps to seek
out the magic he found in the Middle East.
There are few gures in history
more mysterious than T E Lawrence.
Archaeologist, spy, soldier, scholar, poet
and adventurer; as a young man Lawrence
achieved what many believed impossible,
masterminding an Arab rebellion to help
end over 400 years of Turkish rule in
present day Syria, Jordan and Saudi Arabia.
With Britain exhausted by the bloodshed
of World War I in Europe, Lawrence
soon became a national hero for his
daredevil campaigns against Germanys
Aleppo is all compact of
colour, and sense of line.
You inhale Orient in
lungloads, and glut your
appetite with silks and
dyed fantasies of clothes

Thomas Edward Lawrence, the man
who would become Lawrence of Arabia,
writing in a letter home, 1912
RIGHT T E Lawrence, better
known as Lawrence of
Arabia, has hero status in
the west but many Arab
accounts paint a less
attering picture.
FAR RIGHT Lawrences
unpaid bill from the Baron
Hotel, Aleppo
LAWRENCE'S ARABIA
Aleppo, Syria
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May 2010
JDRDAN
May 2010 81 80
ally, Turkey, in the Middle East. His story
gained international attention as he crossed
vast stretches of unmapped desert to
launch lightning raids on Turkish outposts,
recruiting new troops and dynamiting
enemy supply trains as he went. Even
today, the legend of a romantic gure
dressed in Arab robes, sweeping across
hostile landscapes and capturing holy
cities has endured, thanks to David
Leans classic lm, Lawrence of Arabia.
And yet in spite of all the attention, little
is certain about the man himself what
inspired him to make these incredible
journeys and ght such audacious battles.
Most say he was driven by a desire for
greatness, others point to a mysterious
Arab lover and many suggest he was
simply following orders from London.
Time has passed, but it has done little to
clear the mystery that shrouds Lawrence.
Though nearly a century has passed
since Lawrence rst stayed at the Baron
Hotel as a young archaeologist, its likely
hed recognise the place today. Owned
by the same family as during its heyday
when world leaders and monarchy
checked in on their way to the Holy Land
the hotel has been in a state of graceful
decay for some years. High ceilings and
worn leather chairs bear witness to the
glamour of a bygone age, and a fashionable
set whove long since departed. An old
poster advertises express trains from
London to Baghdad promising rapidity
and safety for every passenger.
In the lobby Lucine, who has worked at
the Baron for 44 years, is greeting guests.
She dives into a desk to show me ageing
black and white postcards horse-drawn
carriages speeding past the hotel, and
guests posing on the veranda. So many
famous people, she mutters to herself
Theodore Roosevelt, Charles Lindbergh,
Kemal Atatrk I ask her if she ever heard
any stories about Lawrence. I am not quite
that old, young man, she says, laughing
warmly before pirouetting to answer a call
on an antique telephone system.
Deep in Aleppos vast, ancient, vaulted
market, its rush hour. Traders shunt about
reeking carcasses and sacks of spices in the
shadows, with no time for those who get in
their way. It is a world of thoroughfares and
abrupt twists and turns. Heading deeper
into the souq, you cross the jewellers
alleyway, the ironmongers stalls, dodge
carts of vegetables and side-step the cats
that sit expectantly around the butchers
shops. Each doorway contains its scene
girls gossiping, men listening to transistor
radios but one doorway is different.
Following a ight of steps down into a
lavishly decorated room is Hammam
Al-Nahaseen the men-only underground
baths that have existed in some form for
over 600 years. The bathkeeper beckons
guests inside, where bathers are shunted
around a rabbits warren of narrow
passages from wash rooms with marble
sinks to hot steam rooms before being led
to a cavernous underground swimming
pool. Diving into the cool water, the heat of
the market could not seem further away.
After an hours sweating, swimming and
scrubbing, I remerge into the bustle of souq
invigorated and in awe of Aleppo. This,
after all, was the region where Lawrences
love affair with the Middle East began
where, fresh from university, he joined a dig
at nearby Carchemish, the ruined Hittite city
on the banks of the river Euphrates.
Further along, the covered markets give
way to open sky, and the looming citadel of
LAWRENCE'S ARABIA
Wander to the end of
the Siq, in Petra, Jordan,
and youll be confronted by
the Hellenistic facade of
the Treasury, which was
carved out of sandstone to
serve as a tomb for the
Nabataean King Aretas III
Aleppo one of the worlds great castles.
From the minaret on the top of the castle
mound the evening call to prayer begins.
Soon every mosque around the city joins in
chorus, and the notes rise and fall, echoing
down the old stone streets of Aleppo.
It was here, in 1914, that Lawrence
claims he was given an honour afforded
to few outsiders: climbing the minaret to
be rewarded with spectacular views of the
city and the desert beyond. He must have
marvelled at the view, knowing nothing
of the adventures he would have here in
the years to come.
Heading south through Syria into Jordan,
the roads meander in the shadow of the
Anti-Lebanon mountains, past Damascus
and the Roman outposts of Jerash and Bosra,
with their grand amphitheatres and long
colonnades. Alongside the road is the Hejaz
railway, used by the Turks to strengthen
their garrisons in Arabia in World War I and
the target of ambushes from Lawrence and
his Arab forces. Today, most of the line has
fallen out of use, but the wreckage of trains
dynamited by Lawrence can still be found,
rusting in the deserts to the south.
The road passes Petra, home of the
Nabataeans a merchant people who built
a city of enormous tombs into the cliffs over
2,000 years ago. Its hard not to feel a sense
of foreboding as you tread through the Siq
the gloomy, narrow canyon that weaves its
way to the ancient city. The rst glimpse of
Petras most famous sight, the Treasury,
sends a shiver down your spine. Glowing a
rich red colour in the late afternoon sun, its
a tantalising prelude to the tombs and caves
sculpted into the mountains beyond.
Further south, the heat becomes more
intense, and soon there is nothing but an
expanse of sand and stone on all sides.
The Hejaz railway served
the political and economic
interests of the Ottoman
Empire so came under
attack from Lawrence.
RIGHT A more traditional
means of getting around
May 2010 A May 2010
JDRDAN
82
Wadi Rum, a series of valleys,
among which is a desert
landscape of sand and rocks,
has been made famous by
the exploits of Lawrence,
who urged Arab leaders to
wage their war in the desert
rather than cities. Some
scenes of the lm Lawrence
of Arabia were shot here
the father of Bedouin guide
Eid (left) supervised the army
of extras. A visit to Wadi Rum
will reveal the same
1,000-year-old carvings in
canyons that Lawrence
would have seen (right) and
offers the chance to meet
the hospitable local Bedouin,
such as Abdullah (above),
whos making coffee
visitors at the park entrance. Its also
a stretch of desert synonymous with
Lawrence, who used it as a base for his
attacks against the Turks.
Nearly 50 years ago, Lawrence of
Arabia was lmed here, and Eids father
supervised an army of Bedouin extras.
Described by Steven Spielberg as a miracle
of a lm, it has since been acknowledged
as one of the greatest examples of British
cinema, winning seven Oscars including
Best Picture. It catapulted the previously
unknown Peter OToole to superstardom,
despite criticism that he was nearly nine
inches taller than the real Lawrence.
Walking in Wadi Rum can be a gruelling
business watching one footstep after
another sink into the hot sand isnt made
any easier by the sight of Eid up ahead,
dressed in a billowing black robe that
gives the impression that he is gliding
effortlessly over the dunes. Mastering
the desert is, it seems, a state of mind.
Lawrence, too, was a man at one with its
emptiness he wrote of the closeness men
could feel to God alone in this wilderness,
but understood that he could also use the
deserts hostility to his advantage.
When Britain declared war on Turkey,
Lieutenant Lawrence was sent south to the
Hejaz to help Arab armies rebelling against
Turkish occupation. After years spent with
his head buried in history books, studying
ruins and Crusader castles, Lawrences
time to prove himself had come the great
E
ID Ateeg is a man of few words.
The desert is a place where you
have to make a friend of silence,
so perhaps its not surprising
that, having spent his whole life
in this empty landscape my Bedouin guide
is used to the odd lull in conversation.
We are in the Wadi Rum, southern
Jordan. This region is mentioned in the
Quran for its beauty, and its hidden
springs have made it a stop-off route for
travellers for thousands of years. Today, the
mountains have become a haven for
trekkers and rock climbers who brave its
gorges and scale steep cliff faces, with
dozens of guides jostling for the custom of
LAWRENCE'S ARABIA
destiny he had promised himself was
within reach. As the Arab leaders stood
on the brink of defeat, the charismatic
young Englishman persuaded them to
change tactics. Rather than confronting
the modern Turkish military head on, they
were to abandon the cities to wage their
war in the desert instead.
Lawrence and his men must have
found some consolation, at least, in the
extraordinary views across Wadi Rum. On
all sides are sandstone mountains vast,
red rocks that look like molten wax rising
sharply from the at desert oor. Lawrence
wrote lyrically about this strange landscape
in his autobiography and account of the
desert war, Seven Pillars of Wisdom he
described great waves of rock, and seeing
the shapes of houses and castles in the cliff
face. There are footpaths hewn into the
rock, canyons dotted with 1,000 year-old
carvings, and caves that promise shelter
from the vicious sun.
Its a scene of enormous drama, but
silence reigns. I ask Eid if hes ever been
lost anywhere between these strange
shapes. They are like faces to me, he says.
I have never been lost. If I get lost at night,
I can follow the stars.
Looking into the horizon, its easy to
imagine Turks searching for the faintest
sign that Lawrence and the Arab army
were approaching. They were notorious
for striking from nowhere before
disappearing back into the heat haze,
Wadi Rum, Jordan
By day the hot sun
fermented us; and we were
dizzied by the beating wind.
At night we were stained
by dew, and shamed into
pettiness by the innumerable
silences of stars.
T E Lawrence in Seven Pillars of Wisdom
76 May 2010
JDRDAN
May 2010 85
their whereabouts known to no-one but
themselves. By the end of the war this
phantom army had swelled in numbers
and had swept up through the Arabian
peninsular. They camped in Rum before
heading north into Syria, capturing the
holy city of Damascus in 1918.
Perched halfway up a mountain, we can
see a jeep approaching from across the
desert. Initially, it looks nothing more than
a shiny speck, dwarfed by the trail of dust
kicked up behind it. Soon, an Arabic pop
song can be heard blaring out of the car
stereo, and the silence of the desert is
shattered as the jeep comes closer.
As it passes by and speeds off into the
distance, a new sound emerges. It appears
as though there are hundreds of car stereos
hidden up the crags, each blaring out the
same Arabic pop song. These echoes
reach a crescendo, beating out strange
rhythms over the valley oor until it
seems as if the mountains themselves are
speaking to us. The jeep is out of sight, and
the echoes begin to die down. Soon the
sacred silence of the desert returns. Dusk
sets in and it is time to begin the scramble
down to the valley oor.
Night has fallen, and were camped
under a cliff wall after a days hiking. Not
a word is spoken as we sit on coarse
rugs, feasting greedily on a chicken stew
prepared by Eids wife in the village a few
miles away. After weve nished, Eid
gathers the bones. This is for the wolves,
so they wont be hungry and eat us.
We settle down to sleep under a sky
lined with thousands of stars. Soon the
moon comes out, and the silhouettes of
the precipices bear down on our little
camp. The orbs pale blue light oods the
valley oor, and the wind sends clouds
of dust spiralling into the air. Lawrence
compared this landscape to the places of
his childhood dreams. He wrote of how he
often closed his eyes, imagining himself
riding through Wadi Rum at night and into
the dawn at the valleys end.
After a long, deep sleep, morning comes,
and the rst rays of sunlight clear the cliff
tops overhead. It is time to abandon camp
and head north. Leaving Wadi Rum, we
pass Lawrences Spring little more than
a trickle of water at the top of a narrow
valley lined with trees and plants. Praised
as a paradise just ve feet square in Seven
Pillars of Wisdom, Lawrence vividly
described great jets of water shooting from
the cliff face with mysterious symbols
carved into the surrounding rocks. The
spring has carried his name ever since.
A days drive to the north is Jordans
Eastern Desert. It is a world of long, lonely
highways, dotted with ruined palaces and
Bedouin guides such as
Mohamed (right) make a
trip to Wadi Rum all the
more rewarding, while an
overnight stay in a
Bedouin camp (opposite)
will allow you to slow
down to the timeless
rhythm of desert life,
enjoying the galaxy of
stars overhead
LAWRENCE'S ARABIA
bathhouses dating from times when the
Umayyad Caliphs ruled from Spain to
Pakistan. Furthest to the east lies Qasr
Azraq a Roman fort that Lawrence made
his home during his northern advance,
and where he spent his last winter with
the Arab Revolt.
S
AT in the shade of the castle tower,
gatekeeper Nader Nayef Blous
has a sad tale to tell. The lush
greenery that Lawrence describes
in Seven Pillars of Wisdom is
now a distant memory. The water was
diverted elsewhere long ago, and now
Qasr Azraq stands on a parched plot
of land. It has all gone, Nader says
Qasr Azraq, Jordan
Te blue fort on its rock
above the rustling palms,
with the fresh meadows and
shining springs of water,
broke on our sight
T E Lawrence in Seven Pillars of Wisdom
86
I recall the scenes Lawrence described
in Seven Pillars of Wisdom coffee and
storytelling after dark, and the ghosts of
dogs outside the castle walls wailing for
their dead masters who built the fort.
I leave Azraq by the great basalt door that
makes the whole castle shudder when it is
shut. It weighs three tonnes, and takes
nearly a minute of strenuous effort to push
open. If you like, you can take it home with
you as a souvenir, laughs Nader, before
returning to his seat in the gatehouse.
Outside, night is closing in, and the
outline of the moon rises over the castle
tower. Nearly 100 years ago, Lawrence
would have been in his room, his face
lit by the ickering ames of an open re.
He must have thought of the civilisations
that had stood the test of the desert and
those who lived at Azraq before him
Romans, Byzantines, warriors from
the days of the Crusaders.
Somewhere in the distance, the
muezzins call sounds, and the air is once
more electric with prayer hypnotic music
from days when mighty empires rose and
fell, and prophets roamed these lands. The
last notes die down, and the only sound
remaining is the rush of the desert wind.
LAWRENCE'S ARABIA
The desert castle of
Azraq was Lawrences
headquarters during the
Arab Revolt in 1917-18.
He described how
closing the huge basalt
door (below) would
make the wall tremble
wistfully, remembering the Azraq of his
childhood in the afternoon heat.
The castle, built in the Middle Ages on
the site of an earlier Roman fort, still has
some of its ramshackle charm from the
times when Lawrence mounted machine
guns on the battlements. Its dark blue,
basalt stone contrasts starkly with the
desert, but the walls are disintegrating
and no-one would dispute that Qasr Azraq
has seen better days.
Like the castle, Lawrences tale does not
have a happy ending. After defeating the
Turks in Syria, the Arabs found that the
freedom they were promised ghting under
Lawrence was a mirage. The Middle East
was to be divided between Britain and
France, with Lawrence seen as a traitor
among the men who had once adored him.
Soon after, the fallen hero returned to
England. Wracked by guilt, he assumed a
new identity as a lowly aircraftman in the
RAF to escape his troubled past. He died in
a motorcycle accident in 1935.
Even today, Lawrences betrayal is
one of the many reasons so many Arabs
distrust the West, and he is widely disliked
in the region. But Nader thinks differently.
My mothers father knew Lawrence and
fought with him, he says. He said he
was a good man.
He points up a ight of stone steps to
Lawrences old bedroom in the castle tower.
Looking around the dark, empty room,

Oliver Smith, a writer with a particular interest in

the Middle East, has been fascinated by Lawrence
since he watched the lm about his life as a child.